


Out of Time

by Nikkusama



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Plot, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Connor can be such a flirt, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Machine Connor (Detroit: Become Human), One Shot, Oral Sex, Pacifist Route (Detroit: Become Human), Power Dynamics, Power Play, Sexual Tension, Smut, and there are a lot of feelings involved, feelings complicate things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23838346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikkusama/pseuds/Nikkusama
Summary: Connor arrives at his final mission determined to put an end to the deviancy crisis once and for all. Hank is prepared to do what it takes to stop him. Neither of them are going down without a fight, but perhaps there was more at stake than what either of them realised.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 21
Kudos: 129





	Out of Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Follow_the_white_R4bbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Follow_the_white_R4bbit/gifts).



There was no escaping Cyberlife. The company stood at the heart of Detroit, a monolith of human achievement; it was now a beacon to its potential downfall. As androids readied themselves for a demonstration, convening to protest against their human masters, Cyberlife’s advertisements ironically loomed over the city. Huge LCD displays dominating the skyline, omniscient and omnipresent.

As much as Connor insisted that he didn’t suffer from any existential doubts about his creators, he felt conflicted. Cyberlife had guided him through any hesitation with a firm hand, imposed their will upon him, and ultimately succeeded in ensuring that no matter what had happened over the past week he emerged a machine. He always chose to make the mission his highest priority, no matter the cost. He’d hunted the deviants, proven himself - to Kamski, to Hank- that nothing was more important to him than the mission. He made the right _choices_.

He had to stop it. This was his last chance. Everything he was programmed to do was hanging on this moment. He could not fail, even if it meant his own destruction. It was a sacrifice Cyberlife was willing to make. He understood, of course he understood. He just… wished that it wasn’t the case.

The polished leather of his shoes clipped the metal roof tiles as he strode to his vantage point. He had no trouble getting here. The streets were deserted, he had the necessary clearance, and if all else failed he was built for combat. In a manner of speaking.

An icy wind whipped around him as he knelt and opened the heavy briefcase case with a decisive click, revealing the sniper rifle within. Even with the snow dramatically reducing visibility he could see his target in the distance; the RK200 registered to Carl Manfred, ‘Markus.’ The android behind the city teetering on the brink, descending into a civil war.

Androids were forbidden from carrying firearms. It was a clear directive programmed into every model, even ones destined for use within the police and military. His mission made him an exception, a glaring contradiction to a well-known fact. He never questioned why, though he quietly assumed that being unable to react to a gun – including turning it against its original owner- would make him less efficient, less capable. Cyberlife couldn’t afford him any weaknesses. He was built to be _perfect_.

Connor lined up the shot, taking advantage of his analysis software to remove the need for a spotter. He had to ensure that he would completely eliminate his target with one bullet. This was his last chance.

“You shouldn’t do this Connor.” Hank’s deep voice was clear as he called to him from across the rooftops. Connor flinched, turned his head briefly to watch him approach. Hank looked tired, but calm. Determined. They had that in common.

“Keep out of this, lieutenant. It’s none of your business,” Connor said, scoping his target once more. His window of opportunity was shrinking. He could see a timer appear in his vision. He only had seconds.

“You're gonna kill a man who wants to be free, that is my business!”

Connor felt his thirium pump kicking into overdrive, the cold blue liquid flooding his biocomponents and heightening his senses as though he was under attack. He couldn’t focus on the shot; too much of his processing was stubbornly hyper-focused on Hank standing a few feet away from him. He couldn’t help himself predicting his movements, pre-constructing how many paces it would take for Hank to reach him, take the rifle from his hands, restrain him-

“It's not a man, it's a machine,” he snapped, masking his anticipation with frustration. He pulled back the cocking mechanism to punctuate the point.

“That's what I thought for a long time but I was wrong. Deviant's blood may be a different colour than mine, but they're alive.”

Connor gripped the rifle, hunching his shoulders. It was illogical. How many times did he have to go over this? The evidence was clear, and yet Hank was determined to question it at every opportunity. He thought back to the Ambassador’s bridge, Hank demanding to know _what_ Connor was.

In hindsight, he shouldn’t have told Hank that he could be whatever he wanted him to be. It was too close to the truth. To what he _wanted_.

“I'm going to accomplish my mission, Lieutenant, whether you like it or not. I advise you to stay out of my way!”

Hank didn’t rise to the bait. He brushed aside Connor’s threat as if it were nothing, seeing straight through it to what it was.

“Then one of us is gonna have a problem, Connor,” Hank said, still as unwavering and resolute as when he arrived, “’cause I don't intend to let you have your way. Step away from the ledge.”

The tell-tale _click_ of the revolver’s safety was unexpectedly loud. It was the second time Hank had pointed his gun at him; perhaps he would go through with it this time. Shoot him, make him fail his mission, leave him at Cyberlife’s mercy.

Connor rolled his eyes. He stood in a fluid movement, still gripping the rifle, to face Hank. 

Hank’s expression was stern, his eyes intensely burning with an emotion Connor couldn’t identify. It wasn’t hatred, nor hostility, but an absolute expectation that Connor was going to obey.

He was going to disappoint him.

“Go home, Hank! You can still save your life. I'm faster than you and I don't feel pain.” Connor took a step towards him, making his point perfectly clear. “You don't stand a chance against me.”

Hank didn’t back down. With his gun pointed squarely at Connor’s chest – chance of irreparable damage to a vital biocomponent: 72% - he stood his ground.

“You know, ever since Cole died, I've been nothing but a coward. Just wanted to destroy myself, lost track of the man I was. But you know what? You don't _fucking_ scare me, Connor.”

Connor felt a tug at his lips, a small smile in defiance. Hank was not the one in charge here. He could read Hank’s vitals, the elevated heart rate, the visible sheen of perspiration on his forehead despite the freezing temperatures.

Hank’s hands trembled as he gripped the revolver. “I remember who I am, now. Come on!”

Neither of them moved. Connor felt locked in the moment, Hank’s gun trained on him, prepared to kill but desperate not to. Hank was always the optimist, wanting nothing more than to be given fleeting moments of hope. Connor felt a pang of regret that so many of his actions caused Hank some measure of pain. It was unavoidable; Hank just… just didn’t understand that Cyberlife was right on this. The deviancy crisis had to stop. He had to stop it.

If things had been different, maybe he and Hank could have been friends. Maybe they would have come together for this. Partners.

Connor made a show of placing the rifle down, opening his palms in surrender. Hank visibly relaxed – Connor could see it in his face, see it in his hands as the revolver was lowered an imperceptible amount.

He threw the sniper rifle.

Hank fired, trying to regain his lost aim, but Connor was too fast; the shot fell wide, ricocheting off some railing somewhere with a metallic screech. Connor’s shoulder connected with Hank’s chest a second later, their bodies colliding, both immediately struggling to gain the upper hand. The gun was lost to the scuffle, hastily kicked away.

Despite the brutality of Hank’s blows, his fist relentless as they connected with Connor’s chest, face, arms, Connor was winning. He was swift in a way that only an android could be, precise and calculating, avoiding the worst of the strikes and retaliating with vicious ones of his own. Connor knew that he had the advantage; Hank felt pain, and couldn’t ignore it when a punch landed with enough force to split his lip, or a well-placed strike knocked the breath from his lungs.

Hank threw a mean right hook that would have landed with enough force to knock Connor to the ground. It didn’t connect. Connor used Hank’s momentum to get behind him, wrap his arm around Hank’s throat. Hank forced them both backwards, slamming Connor’s body against a wall, jabbing his elbows into the soft polymer of Connor’s stomach.

It was only when Connor compressed the windpipe and the carotid artery that Hank finally stopped his struggle. His hands gripped Connor’s forearm, squeezing as he fought for breath, panting his exertion but no longer thrashing in his arms.

“Do I scare you yet, Hank?” Connor asked as he held Hank’s body close to his, feeling the warmth of him pressed from his torso to his thighs. This close Connor could see the sweat as it trickled down Hank’s face, feel every expansion and compression of his breath. Hank growled his response, a snarl that resonated deep from within his chest. He pressed back, crushing Connor between his body and the wall.

Connor didn’t anticipate his reaction to it. He felt his cock stiffen, the biocomponent suddenly coming online with no warning and no input from himself. Wanting.

Hank clearly felt it too. Went completely still in his arms, silent except for the thudding his heart. Connor felt his stress level increase, felt Hank’s heart rate elevate even further. Fear and arousal going hand in hand.

Hank spoke first, his voice barely above a gruff whisper.

“How’s this gonna go, Connor?”

The question went straight to Connor’s dick. He didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t know what to say. Whenever he thought he had enough data to form a response the words jumbled into a staticky mess.

He understood, now, what he felt on Ambassador Bridge. Knew that this was what had been building between them all this time. And he was in control. He just had to wield it.

“Surrender, Hank, before you get hurt.”

A moment’s silence, heavy and still. Connor could feel what made Hank different from him. His wildly beating heart, his shallow breaths. The heady scent of cortisol, adrenaline, norepinephrine. Hank was so _alive_.

Hank turned his head as much as he could, fighting to look Connor in the eye. “You gonna make me?”

“I just did.” He cleared his throat. “You need to stop fighting me, Hank. You can’t win this.”

They were so close. Connor could feel Hank’s breath on his face, see something burning in his eyes and it was making his biocomponents go crazy. His dick was hard, his thirium pump was racing and it was all he could do to stop his voice from stuttering when he spoke.

“You haven’t made me do shit,” Hank growled, though he didn’t struggle in Connor’s hold. “I’ll do whatever it takes to stop you.”

It wouldn’t take much for Connor to kiss him. His pre-constructions supplied all the information he needed. The thought of acting on it made him feel almost giddy with anticipation. He wanted it so badly. It was irrational. All of it. He shouldn’t be thinking this way. Shouldn’t _want_ anything.

He gave into it anyway.

He bucked, forcing them both to stumble forward. Hank tried to break free, but Connor grabbed his wrists, forced him back and slammed him against the wall, pinning him hard enough to make Hank grunt in surprise. 

Connor surged forwards, pressing his body against Hank’s, and crashing their lips together, forcing his tongue into Hank’s mouth.

The sheer volume of information that surged through him made him whimper. It was so much more than he’d ever experienced, so much raw data to process over and over with each possessive touch. The bulk of Hank’s body pressed against him, the heat and wetness of their tongues intertwining. Even with his eyes closed Connor saw nothing but blurred strings of text that he could make nothing of. It was Hank, all of it. Hank’s taste, Hank’s touch.

It was an emulation. Just emulation. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He didn’t know he could feel like this. He wanted more. His cock was starting to ache, the sensation alien in its insistence, and only made worse by the fleeting relief when he rubbed against Hank’s stomach. He took comfort in the fact that Hank was also responding to... whatever was happening. Connor could feel the length of him, hot and hard. It wasn’t enough. It was too much. He couldn’t handle it-

“Fuck…” Connor swore as he pulled back, not far enough to let go, but far enough that Hank could get some much-needed air. Hank looked dazed; his eyes were half lidded, and a flush was starting to work its way up his neck. He came to his senses quickly, pulling his features into a harsh scowl. He glared at Connor in disgust.

Connor’s mission parameters flickered urgently, overlapping into his vision, reminding him of what he needed to do. The deviancy crisis. Stop the deviant leader. Stop the _revolution_.

A secondary objective fought for dominance, the text larger, more aggressive and jagged. It didn’t seem to come from Cyberlife, but instead from somewhere deep within his code.

Hank. It was always about Hank.

Time slowed to a crawl. A choice flashed before Connor’s eyes.

[ **Fight Hank** ]

Likelihood of success: 89%

[ **M̠̟̯̐̃̔̕͢ak̤̞̮͎̓̿͑̔ẽ̥̚ͅ ͇̠̓͝Hank su͔̓b̬͠m͕͚̘̀̎̄i̟̳̐͐t̺̲̊̍** ]

Likelihood of s̱͎̣̏̋̅ų̪̿̕ĉ̥ͅc͕͙͋̏e͔͍̍͂s̮̯̾͌s͉͂: ?̱̍?̞͆́͢%̨̎

It should have been an easy decision. The numbers were there, the analysis he relied on ever-present in his visual display. He had the upper hand. He didn’t even have to kill him. He could strike; this close, he could easily knock him unconscious. Retrieve the rifle. Complete his mission.

He let Hank go.

It only took a second for him to choose but once he did, he could _feel_ Cyberlife’s disapproval like a weight settling on his shoulders. Software instability flooded his vision; he ignored the internal warning that always accompanied the rush of blue. It was manageable. It didn’t mean anything. He had been built to be adaptable; he would go after Markus later. He wasn’t deviant. The revolution wouldn’t succeed. 

Connor took a few crucial steps back, giving them both space. His mind raced as he flitted through his memory files for something, anything, that would make Hank more likely to comply. He remembered the conversation at Chicken Feed, remembered the fondness in Hank’s eyes when he told him that adapting to human unpredictability was one of his functions. _Hank liked it when he flirted._

Connor took a second to compose himself, softened his expression, tried to look inviting, alluring.

“There is one way you could stop me going after that android,” Connor offered.

“And what’s that?” Hank asked, voice laced with suspicion. He eyed Connor like he was a dangerous, wild animal.

Connor smiled, a small teasing quirk of his lips. “Make it worth my while?”

Hank pushed off of the wall, drawing himself up to his full height. Connor could see his erection clearly, the blunt shape visible beneath his slacks. Hank caught him staring and his frown deepened.

“You want to run that one by me again?”

Hank sounded… angry. No, _tense_. Connor stepped in close. Hank didn’t flinch, but the rapidly deepening blush gave him away.

Connor leant forward, his lips brushing Hank’s ear. 

“I’m giving you a choice, Hank,” he murmured, his tone almost playful, light. “You want me to stay? You’re going to have to work for it.”

He paused. An image filled his mind’s eye, a helpfully supplied memory of the RT600 - Chloe - kneeling in front of him with a gun pointed at her forehead. The epitome of submission as he held her life in his hands. He remembered the look in her eyes as he pulled the trigger. He was never supposed to want anything, but his body ached for something now, something only Hank could give him. “I want you on your knees.” 

“The fuck?” Hank instantly tensed up, pushing Connor back, his expression flitting between shock, outrage and a deep-seated interest that he couldn’t quite mask. Connor could read his vitals, see his stress levels were climbing, but so was his excitement.

“Or would you rather I leave?”

Hank scowled, his eyes narrowed in warning and his lips pressed into a thin line. Connor reached for Hank’s hand and guided it to his aching cock. “Touch me.”

Despite his growl of protest, Hank’s fingers gently curled around him. Connor bit back on a whimper at the hesitant touch. Even through the fabric of his jeans he felt the delicate change in pressure and temperature, arousal sending an unbearable heat coursing through him.

“This do it for you, Connor? This what you wanted?”

“…lieutenant…,” Connor breathed, feeling giddy. Lightheaded. Another flood of blue in his display. More software instability. Hank winced at his title, but didn’t remove his hand.

“Didn’t answer the question,” Hank growled, tightening his grip. Connor shuddered. His dick throbbed at the possessive touch, at Hank’s authoritative tone. He pushed away some of the pleasure he was feeling, bringing his objectives into sharp focus.

“I told you what I want, lieutenant. Kneel for me. Suck me off. Surrender to me.”

Hank blushed deeply, snatching his hand away. “No. Oh fuck no. You can’t be serious.”

“You asked me what I wanted, and I told you.”

“Why? Why that? Why me?”

“It’s what I want,” Connor said simply, shrugging.

“You’re a fucking android.”

“Does that matter? You’re here because of a _fucking android_.”

“Oh, very cute Connor. You know what I mean.”

“No. I don’t.”

Hank swore, glancing at Connor before looking away. Connor waited. He could be very patient when he wanted to be. A timer flashed in warning, his mission – _stop the deviant leader_ \- trying once again to become his primary objective. He dismissed it, focusing his full attention on Hank, taking in the tiny details of his body language. Wanting. Hoping.

“What’s it going to be, Hank?” Connor pushed. “Are you going to kneel for me?”

“You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“I assure you, I’m not.” Connor softened his expression, trying to look non-threatening, beseeching. A facsimile of gentleness. Hank had a weakness for puppy-dog eyes.

Their eyes met and Hank sighed. Whatever conflict he was working through, he clearly made a decision. 

“Not here,” he said, his voice so low that Connor had to strain to hear him.

“What are you concerned about? The likelihood of anyone witnessing-”

“I can’t… I just can’t. You want to boss me around? Okay, fine. I’ll play your game. I’ve got nothin’ left to lose. But not… not here.” Hank gestured to the empty rooftop illuminated a bright Cyberlife-blue, the promise of carnage that lay beyond the barricade of the protest.

Connor nodded, his systems supplying a new secondary objective, one which simply read **[find somewhere private].** He ran a scan on the local area; in a matter of seconds his search turned up an evacuated hotel half a block away. His LED turned back to blue.

“There’s a hotel nearby. I suggest we go there.”

“Fine by me.” 

Connor smiled, and gestured towards the door leading off the roof. “After you, lieutenant.”

* * *

Going to the hotel complicated matters. Despite managing to appease Cyberlife a little, placate them by reporting that what he was doing was necessary, that he was removing Hank as a threat so that he could get back to stopping Markus without interruption, they didn’t approve of him leaving the heart of the conflict in order to do so. Their disapproval increased with every minute lost, reminding him over and over that he was running out of time.

After sending one final report that he knew what he was doing, and that he always completed his mission, he muted the responses; they were starting to cause him physical pain.

Hank was also on edge the entire walk, but didn’t try to run, or fight, or do any of the hundred other pre-constructions Connor’s software helpfully provided. He just lit up a cigarette and walked in step, tense and silent. Connor didn’t offer up any conversation either, didn’t say anything until they were almost outside. The place was deserted; the owners were missing, likely fled the city, and the domestic androids would have been rounded up for decommission.

“Lieutenant?”

“Hm?” Hank grunted, stopping to light another cigarette. It was his third.

Connor wanted to ask how he was feeling, ask if he wanted this as much as Connor did, to try and tease out details of what was running through Hank’s mind. He struggled to form the words.

Instead he grabbed Hank’s wrist and guided the cigarette to his own lips. He took a deep drag, feeling the smoke fill his mouth, coil around the sensitive analysis components of his tongue. Nicotine, Hydrogen cyanide, Acrolein, Formaldehyde- 

He exhaled slowly, the tendrils of smoke curling towards Hank. He shivered at the look Hank was giving him. _Hungry_.

“We’re here.”

Tension built thick and heavy between them as Connor opened the door, interfacing with the electronic lock to let them both inside. Hank led the way, leaving Connor, as always, to trail in after him.

Connor didn’t know what he was expecting. For Hank to change his mind, maybe. To argue, yell at him, decide that enough was enough. He was entirely unprepared for Hank to shove him against the closed door, to grab his shoulders and pin him there. He felt himself being guided, no, _directed_ , into place, Hank once again assuming the upper hand, seizing control and doing as he pleased. Connor’s arousal had understandably abated in the walk – his biocomponent shutting off as if nothing had happened – but to be subjected to the full force of _Hank_ was more than enough to make his body react.

“Oh…!”

Hank’s hands were everywhere at once, pulling at his jacket, undoing the buttons on his shirt; he yanked at the starched fabric, exposing the pale synthetic skin of his abdomen to the cool air.

Data. So much data. Hank’s hands were hot, searing like a brand over Connor’s synthetic skin, leaving white trails as he groped and pinched. Connor gasped as every trail of fabric sent a shiver through him, every caress of Hank’s fingers adding to a sensation that was compounding, building. Hank seemed to sense the effect his onslaught was causing, and before Connor could protest the movement Hank forced a thickly-muscled leg between Connor’s thighs and hoisted him up onto it, forcing a slow grind that was making his sensors flash in warning. He felt so hot, burning from the inside.

“This is how I’ve got to stop you?” Hank breathed, rolling his hips to prove the point. “This is the only way I can keep you from going after that android?”

“No- no! I… I want…. Fuck!” Connor gasped, trying to hold onto something, his fingers scrabbling for purchase and finding nothing. Hank was strong, had him pinned in his own clothing.

“What’s the matter Connor?”

“Hank… Hank…! Please…. Lieutenant!” Connor panted, his cock trapped against Hank’s thigh as he rocked and bucked. The pace was quick, unrelenting. He struggled in Hank’s hold, simultaneously trying to seek friction and pull away from it.

“Noisy, aren’t you? Might have to find a way to keep you quiet.”

“Hank!”

Hank slipped two fingers past his parted lips, pressed them against his tongue to stifle his babbling. Connor moaned around Hank’s fingers, his eyes rolling in his head. He had no control of his reaction as his tongue was met with an onslaught of data, heat-pressure-texture and so much chemical composition, right down to the faded components of Hank’s soap. A bright error flashed in his display, red and urgent at the intrusion. Analysis fluid flooded his mouth, the viscous liquid spilling over his chin. It was obscene. It was perfect. He sucked, trying to taste _more_. He felt like all of his processes were running past their capacity, pushed to the limit. His dick twitched, hot and urgent, barrelling him towards a soft-reboot he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“They program this into you, Connor?” Hank asked, sliding his fingers deeper into Connor’s mouth, covering his entire tongue. He whimpered, saline tears mixing with the analysis fluid as it dripped down his cheeks. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to brace against the sensations “Cyberlife’s most advanced android- fuck!”

Connor bit down on his fingers, a sharp nip that promised that he could bite a hell of a lot harder. Hank hissed and pulled them out, leaving a damp trail over Connor’s lips. Connor’s chest was heaving despite not needing to breathe, trying to disperse some of the built-up heat in his chassis. 

It was a brief respite, but enough for Connor to regain a tentative grip on his waning self-control, enough to pull him back away from the edge.

“I wouldn’t gloat if I were you, lieutenant,” he said, as though he hadn’t been seconds away from orgasm. His voice still had a static quality to it that gave him away. “I’m very adaptable.”

Connor grabbed Hank’s collar, pulling him into a messy kiss, saliva and analysis fluid mixing as he forced his tongue into Hank’s mouth. Hank groaned at the contact, as Connor licked and nipped, tasting the smoke on his breath. Each time their tongues entwined he felt a deep rumble in Hank’s chest, a vibration that he felt where they touched.

Connor slipped his hand down Hank’s body, exploring. The sensitive pads of his fingers picked up Hank’s vitals through his shirt as they traced lower. Even through the fabric he could feel the muscle of his chest, the small peaks of his nipples, his frantic heartbeat. Hank squirmed at the touch, but didn’t break the kiss, gasping as Connor explored his body. Lower still, Hank’s cock was hard and insistent. As Connor touched the straining bulge, Hank moaned deeply, breathless.

“What do you think, lieutenant,” Connor teased as he repeated the gentle caress, testing the movements that made Hank flinch and filing the information away for later. “You think you are doing any better?”

“Shut up.”

Hank’s ragged breathing was encouraging despite his harsh words, as was his heart rate and prominent erection. Connor undid the buttons to his fly, creating enough room to slip in his hands and continue his attention without some of the restriction of clothing. The heat was more intense here, more focused on one singular point. Hank’s knees buckled slightly; he leaned forwards, resting his forehead on Connor’s shoulder as he bit back on a moan.

The timer warning blared inside Connor’s head, an urgent alarm that broke through his muted notifications and made his LED spin red. The reminder was clear: _complete your mission. Stop Markus. Time is running out!_

He froze, his hand stilling.

“Connor?”

Connor shook his head, trying to force his LED back to yellow.

“That’s enough,” he said with a soft sigh. He withdrew his hand, encouraging Hank to stand straight, suddenly serious. Hank was flushing, and he had a questioning look on his face. He must have seen something in Connor’s expression because he took a hesitant step backwards.

“You know why we are here, lieutenant. It’s time to give me what I want.”

An oppressive silence filled the air.

“What do you want, Connor?”

“You know.”

“I’m not convinced _you_ do.” 

Connor waited, holding Hank’s gaze, holding the challenge. He was painfully aroused; he had been so close to losing himself to the sensation it… worried him. But his pleasure wasn’t the mission. He had to make Hank submit to him.

Hank knew it too.

Slowly, tantalisingly so, Hank let himself sink to the floor, kneeling as if waiting for his execution. Connor couldn’t deny the thrill that shot through him at the sight, how it made his head spin. When Hank wouldn’t meet his eye Connor extended a hand, slender fingers encouraging Hank to tilt his head up. His eyes were so blue, brimming with unspoken emotion.

“Well, get on with it,” Hank muttered, jerking his head out of Connor’s grasp and looking away. 

Even at this angle Connor could see Hank’s cock pressing against the seam of his pants, a damp spot forming even through two layers of fabric. He bit his tongue around the comments that were queuing in his visual display.

Connor shucked off his jacket, letting the stiff fabric fall in a puddle on the floor. His shirt hung open, the pale blue ring of his thirium pump regulator barely visible beneath the paper-thin synthetic skin of his abdomen. He was aware of Hank watching him, watching every movement. He rested his hands on the waist of his jeans and paused. 

“Undress me,” Connor said, his voice a touch too breathless to be truly commanding.

Hank reached up and undid his belt, sliding the leather completely free from the belt loops. Without anything to hold them up, Connor’s pants hung off his hips, easily encouraged to slide down his long legs. He neatly stepped out of them.

Free from the confines of his jeans Connor’s cock jutted out from his body, the only thing between it and Hank’s lips was the thin fabric of his underwear.

Hank’s hands felt burning-hot as he hooked his fingers under the elastic waistband and slowly slipped them down. Connor’s cock sprang forward, blush-red at the tip, slick with pre-cum. Hank didn’t know where to look, and Connor found himself fascinated at the change in Hank’s confidence; as much as he seemed happy to kiss him, pin him in his clothes and encourage him to grind against him, this seemed suddenly too much.

“Suck it.”

He thought Hank was going to refuse. He didn’t move for a long moment. His hands were still on Connor’s hips, gripping the synthetic skin like a lifeline. Connor gently placed a hand on the top of Hank’s head, carding his fingers through the long silver strands of his hair. He didn’t push; just offered something grounding.

It helped.

Hank leaned forward, slowly, shyly, and Connor was entirely unprepared for the blistering heat of his mouth, the velvet softness of his tongue.

“Ahh!” He couldn’t hold back the yell as Hank swallowed him down, not stopping until his nose pressed against the plastic plating of Connor’s chassis. The moment was short-lived as Hank choked, the walls of his throat suddenly contracting. He pulled back urgently, spluttering.

“Again,” Connor commanded, nudging his hips forward, pressing the tip against the seam of Hank’s lips. Hank shot him a scowl for his trouble, but gently parted his lips, allowing Connor to slip in past them. He did much better on the second attempt, wrapping his lips around the head, swirling his tongue around the sensitive glans of the biocomponent.

Hank couldn’t keep from trying to control the situation for long. While he started slowly, practicing the movement of dragging his lips from the base to the tip and only pausing to cough a handful of times, he quickly gained momentum, setting a maddening pace as he hollowed out his cheeks and sucked. Connor felt his precious control slipping – maybe it was Hank’s inexperience, or the heady dominance of it all, but his sensors were stuck on overdrive, clouding his vision with errors and warnings.

“H…Hank…!” Connor groaned, his fingers gripping Hank’s hair. He needed something else to focus on, something to drag his processors away from the overwhelming sensations he was being subjected to. Data fought for his attention, the texture of Hank’s hair, the cool temperatures of their room, the heat of Hank’s mouth, the sensation of his tongue lathing attention to the head of his cock. Hank’s hands roamed over his hips, his ass; thick calloused fingers explored every inch of him, caressing beneath his testicles, trailing his fingers tantalisingly close to his hole but not quite breaching him.

“Oh fuck… Hank…” The artificial musculature in his stomach contracted, making him tense up, curl in on himself to cradle Hank’s head in his hands. It shouldn’t feel so good; his sensors were no more sensitive there than anywhere else on his body. And yet, as Hank’s fingers continued to trace over the sensitised skin, adding yet another sensation for Connor’s processors to provide information on, he felt as though every cable, every wire was drawing unbearably tight.

It was on the edge of his hearing – beyond the static and fizz buzzing in his audio component – but he heard Hank groan. Connor spared a glance and saw that Hank was pawing at the front of his pants with the heel of his palm. He was getting off on this. The sight was almost enough, almost sending him into a soft reboot.

He gently tugged on Hank’s hair, and then a little more urgently when Hank flattened his tongue and licked from the base to the tip, sending another threatening wave through him. Hank released him with a soft pop.

“Let me look at you,” Connor said, guiding Hank to lean back slightly, baring his throat as he pulled back on his hair. Hank was still entirely dressed, albeit a dishevelled. His jugular vein was prominent; Connor could see his pulse thrumming against his skin. He followed the taught line, and was disappointed when it disappeared beneath his collar. He’d have to fix that. “Undress for me.”

“How far is this gonna go, Connor?”

Connor didn’t answer him. “Take off your shirt, Hank,” he repeated, his tone more serious and controlled than he felt.

Hank’s fingers were uncoordinated as he unbuttoned his shirt, balling it up before tossing it to one side. He pulled his under-shirt over his head next, exposing the meat of his chest, the faded tattoo between his pectorals, the soft lines of his stomach. Connor licked his lips, gasping when he tasted the residual traces of their kiss.

He silently guided Hank to stand, appraising him as if he were a work of art. Hank’s body showed his history, covered in scars, tattoos. It was fascinating. Information to file away, to keep safe tucked in his memory. All his and his alone. Circling him like a shark couldn’t help but touch, tracing long fingers over the newly-exposed skin. Hank shivered and flinched, but didn’t move, remained obediently in place as Connor explored every consequence of being _alive_.

“Pants too.” Connor said, his voice thick with arousal. “And underwear.”

“Connor-”

“Please, Hank.”

“Is this really how you want things to go? Fucking in a dingy hotel?”

“I want you,” he said it softly but he could tell Hank heard him. He saw it in his body’s reaction, the way his shoulders tensed and his heartbeat picked up. Connor felt his thirium pump respond in kind, whirring in his chest as it clenched around an emotion he didn’t want to admit to feeling. 

Hank unbuckled his belt, shoving down both his slacks and his boxers in one swift movement. The hesitation from earlier had returned, the palpable apprehension despite the evidence of his excitement. Connor wished things could have been different. Hank was so precious to him, so important. He wished, not for the first time this evening, that things could have been different. But he didn’t have _time_. He never would. In the end, this is all he was ever going to have.

“Hey,” Hank said, snapping Connor out of his thoughts. Connor blinked, looking him in the eye. “You don’t have to do this. We can just go. Leave all this behind, get the fuck out of Detroit. What’s happening here… we can’t stop it.”

“Hank, I can’t. You know that.”

Hank reached out, pulled him into a kiss, a gentle press of their lips. Connor shivered. “Then show me what I have to do to keep you.”

Connor led him to the bed, pushing him to sit against the headboard. Hank was his. His partner, his lieutenant. He’d never owned anything, but he had this. He kissed down Hank’s body, flooding the sensitive sensors in his mouth with pure information; the texture of Hank’s skin, the taste of his sweat, the prickly sensation of his body hair against his tongue. Everything was so exciting in its newness. He wished he had more _time_.

Cyberlife was getting impatient. They were more than displeased with him; they were downright furious. The protest was in full force, the FBI were involved, offering a deal. If Markus refused, they would need to put him down. They needed Connor _now_ . Connor ignored them, dismissing the messages as quickly as they came, then changed his mind and sent a report of his own. It was short and to the point – _I’m almost done; I’ll meet Perkins at the rendezvous as soon as I can_ – and he felt another surge of software instability as a result. It was fine. It didn’t mean anything.

A wave of iciness that had nothing to do with the cool air of the hotel room whipped around him like a blizzard. He shivered unpleasantly as he came back to himself, and noticed the look of concern on Hank’s face.

“It’s nothing.” He lied, pre-empting the question. “My temperature sensors are malfunctioning, that’s all.”

“You sure? I didn’t think you felt the cold.”

“I don’t, usually” he admitted. He smiled reassuringly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m fine, Hank.”

Before Hank could argue Connor swung a long leg over Hank’s hips and perched on the thick muscle of his thighs. Connor marvelled at how hot Hank felt, radiating a heat that chased away the sudden cold. He sunk into it, lost himself in the way it played over his naked flesh at every point they touched.

From this angle Connor could see everything; watch the play of emotion on Hank’s face, admire the shape of his body, the sheer size of his cock laying heavy next to his own. Despite cataloguing the exact dimensions earlier, Connor hadn’t realised just how _big_ he was, especially in comparison to himself. It was fascinating; he wanted to touch, wanted to taste. He swallowed the sudden flood of analysis fluid before it could run over his lips.

“Touch me,” he ordered, taking Hank’s hands in his and guiding them to his waist. Hank didn’t need any more encouragement; he roved his hands over his body, stroking every inch of him. Up his sides, down his back, over the freckled skin of his chest. The sensors under his synthetic skin flashed with pleasure, making him chase the sensation with soft sighs.

“Look at you… you’re perfect…” Hank murmured, continuing his exploration of Connor’s chassis, pressing into the different textures and densities of the plastic. He tweaked a rosy nipple, satisfied when it pebbled in response and Connor gasped, arching into the touch.

Connor preened at the attention, allowing himself a small smile.

“So are you.”

“Bullshit.” Hank said gruffly, though he looked pleased at the sincerity in Connor’s voice. Without needing any prompting Hank reached to grab his ass, holding a cheek in each hand, encouraging him up onto his knees. Connor squirmed as Hank kneaded the softer plastic, feeling sensitised and sensitive. Their erections were pressed together, laying against the curve of Hank’s stomach; Connor gasped as he was encouraged to rock forward, to create a friction that they both craved. Hank moaned too, rolling his hips upwards, seeking relief. They had both been hard for what felt like a very long time. Connor was captivated by how red Hank’s cock was getting, twitching and pulsing even without the direct encouragement of touch.

Connor delicately took Hank in hand, stroking along the length, shuddering as his fingertips relayed so many _details_. The heaviness of the cock in his palm, the petal-softness of the skin, the slick heat from the pre-cum. Connor swiped the liquid with his finger, and brought it to his lips for a taste. He moaned as the data coated his tongue; he sucked his fingers, desperate to record it all.

Hank threw his head back against the headboard, groaning at the sight, “Oh god, Connor…”

Connor didn't bother to swallow his analysis fluid this time; he let it fall from his mouth onto Hank’s dick. He used his fluid-slicked hand to spread it, replaying the information he gathered earlier to find the spots that made Hank shiver and moan. Sensitive as he was Hank jerked at the touch, spasming and twitching as though he was getting a mild electric shock. Connor allowed Hank’s heart monitor to be ever present in his visual display, watching his orgasm building. It sent a thrill through him, knowing he was in control of this, that he had such power over Hank’s body.

“I like how you look, Lieutenant. I like that you’re surrendering to me.”

Hank’s pulse skyrocketed and Connor had to slow his hand to stop Hank from approaching the point of no return too quickly. Hank responded immediately, grabbing his wrist as soon as he felt him starting slow, eyes wild and desperate.

“Everything alright, lieutenant?” he asked innocently, refusing to move his hand in the way Hank so desperately wanted, but not quite letting go entirely.

“Fuck, Connor…”

“Did you want something?”

Hank bit his tongue, breathing heavily through his nose as he fought to regain composure.

Connor smiled at him, and traced his finger over the sensitive glans, just for the reaction of Hank flinching. “It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me,” he teased, repeating the action. “I know what will feel better anyway.”

His asshole was well lubricated, had been for a while; it was an automated process that had kicked in from the first moment of arousal. He was glad of it now – there is no way he could have taken Hank otherwise. Not without breaking. Connor took a firm hold of Hank’s cock and guided him, raising himself up on his knees to sink down to the hilt in one smooth motion.

Hank cried out, swearing loudly as his body heaved with exertion.

“Fuck,” Connor breathed, feeling his sensors light up at the alien sensation. He didn’t expect how tight it would be. How hot Hank would feel nestled deeply inside him. He could feel the biocomponent stretching to accommodate Hank’s girth, his hole gripping tight to the base of his dick. He experimentally moved, rising up on his knees only to sink down to the hilt again, long smooth strokes.

“Oh fuck, god! Connor!” Hank was shaking, his entire body trembling for the need for relief. Heart rate spiking, testosterone levels surging, he was dangerously close. 

“Feel good?” Connor asked, his voice breathy and teasing, rocking against Hank at an infuriatingly steady pace. He knew the answer, could see it in his visual display. He just wanted to hear it.

“Connor! Connor…” Hank’s hands were holding onto his hips so firmly that his synthetic skin was turning white. Connor slowed down out of sheer contrariness and Hank tried to lift him, to thrust fast and deep, but Connor refused to move, stilled his movements entirely when Hank got too insistent. 

“You don’t come until I do,” he said, glancing down at the flustered expression on Hank’s face, revelling at the sight. “As I said earlier; you’ve got to make it worth my while.”

Hank let out another moan, swearing under his breath as he screwed his eyes closed. The sight of him was making Connor’s chest clench weirdly. He was doing this. He was the one causing so much pleasure, was the reason that Hank was slick with sweat, on the verge of orgasm. This was his moment.

Connor closed his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy the rush of sensation that followed. Everything he had done this evening, everything he said, it had led them to this moment. This was his choice, his decision. Hank was so deep within him, and the drag of his cock against the mechanical equivalent of his prostate was making his abdominal muscles clench. Electricity was coursing through him, making the wires and cables that made up his nervous system spark. It felt incredible. A rush of software instability came unbidden, uncontrolled. He had no idea what had caused it, why a blue light edged at his vision. It made him shiver, sensitive and vulnerable. He whimpered, overwhelmed at the sensation.

He leaned forwards, capturing Hank’s face in his hands and guiding him into a kiss. It was messy, careless. Connor stuck his tongue into Hank’s mouth and once again felt the flood of data. Saliva. Cigarette smoke. Whiskey. _Hank_. Connor moaned into the kiss, encouraged that Hank was kissing him back. Hank was groaning, thrusting, trying to chase his pleasure too. He wanted this. They were in it together.

“Oh god Connor please…” Hank begged when he broke the kiss. Sweat was trickling down his face, his cheeks were red, and he looked as wrecked as Connor had ever seen him. Connor couldn’t blush, couldn’t sweat; the intensity of his arousal was given away only by the broken static of his voice. 

“I nė̱̘̤͂̅ed̢̨͖͒̒͡more…. Hank, I nė̱̘̤͂̅ed̢̨͖͒̒͡you to…!”

Hank’s fingers, long and thick, wrapped around his cock. Stroked him desperately. Hank was everywhere at once. Touching everywhere at once. A hand on his dick, another holding his waist, blunt nails digging in as he bucked upwards. He nailed his prostate with each strike and Connor felt his vision give way to static. A circuit completing, an intense electrical surge that made him groan; he lost himself in the sensation.

“Yes, like t̯̺̣̿̊h̃͟a̢͎̹̒͗̌t̘͚̜̋̽̚…! M̲͈͕̓̇́ǒ͜ṙ͙̪̬̊̚ē͔̯͡, and… and I’ll…” 

He couldn’t finish his sentence. Couldn’t keep up the pace, not anymore; Hank’s hands were big, his dick was hitting everywhere that mattered, and Connor was a few vital seconds away from being utterly overwhelmed. 

He was going to come. He was going to come. He-

“Hank… H̨̤̹̾̀ã̡͙̩̩͊̉̕n͈̰͊̓̓͟k̺͖̰̄͆́̚͟͢͠!” he whimpered, trying to warn him. His vision was going red at the edges, warnings and sensors flashing, blinding. Everything felt heightened, compounded, as if his sensitivity had turned up all the way to maximum. He could feel every bit of pressure, every possessive touch and gentle caress. The heat of Hank’s body threatened to engulf him, burn him as he charged towards that pinpoint of pleasure.

This is what he wanted when he thought of Hank. This is what he wanted Hank to always give him. 

“Connor… Connor come…!”

Connor threw his head back with a cry, his back arching as he came. Hank didn’t stop his frantic thrusts, didn’t still his hand on his cock and the searing pleasure grew until it was unbearable. He tried to flinch away but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to escape to – he could only endure, as pleasure, for the first time in his life, turned to _pain_. Hank groaned as he came, a deep guttural sound that could have been Connor’s name. Connor tried to focus on it, tried to do _anything_.

A timer reached zero, and before a grey static could completely cover the world, Connor saw white text flash before his eyes: **M̙͌͘͟is̢̧̡̋͐̃sḭ̢̼̚͟͡͞o̙͕̲͊̂̕ǹ͍̯͈͂̅ C̢͇̥̗͔̃̇̓̒͝o̘̊m̞̯͎̌́̃͟͠p͇̃l̩͕̯̽̍e̢̮͕͒̽̊t͓̦̠͂́̚e̡**

* * *

Connor came online a moment later, one sensor at a time.

His audio processors were first, tuning the deafening roar of unprocessed background noise into the dull _thud_ Hank’s heartbeat. The rhythm was strong; very slightly arrhythmic. He recorded it and filed the sound away, hidden in his memory banks. Next were his tactile processors; they supplied that the ambient temperature was 68 °F, that he was sprawled on a bed, and that he had a blanket covering 76% of his chassis. They _also_ informed him that he had Hank’s cum dripping between his legs, that he was resting his head on Hank’s chest, and Hank was gently stroking his hair.

His vision was last, but he deliberately stalled the process. He didn’t want to move. He wasn’t built to be idle, but they wouldn’t get another chance to have this. He was out of time, and this was more important than pursuing his next objective. 

“Hey,” Hank said, his voice gruff. He sounded exhausted. “You back with me? You went red for a second there.”

He hadn’t realised that Hank was watching him. He opened his eyelids with a snap, and the world came to immediate focus. Hank had retrieved his cigarettes at some point, the one between his fingers burned down almost to the filter. Connor sat up, running a hand through his hair to fix it. It automatically fell neatly back into place. He smiled, a quirk of his lips.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, Lieutenant. I had to recalibrate-”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain. Didn’t know androids could do that. Thought it was just, you know, a program or something.”

Connor thought back to the androids at the Eden club, the countless companionship models purchased for this exact purpose, how they ran subroutine after subroutine to emulate sexual activity. 

“It is,” he said, though he sounded more confident than he felt. Hank wasn't convinced regardless. 

“Didn’t look like it from where I was sitting. And that was pretty fucking close.”

Connor sighed; he wasn’t sure that he wanted to argue with Hank again on this. Remind him that he wasn't alive. He was just a machine. He knew what he was, and what he was built for, even if what he had just gone through felt... real. Logically, there was no way it could have been. It could only have been an emulation. 

A message from Cyberlife pinged behind his eyes; it was openly hostile in its tone. Markus had rejected the FBI’s offer and was leading a final stand against the camps. As Connor had failed to meet Agent Perkins at the rendezvous, he would be scheduled for decommission. Another unit would be sent to replace him unless he completed his mission _now_. 

The mission **[Stop Markus]** flashed urgently. He couldn't dismiss it. His LED spun yellow with the effort. 

“I’m sorry, Hank,” he said before he could stop himself. He couldn’t stop the disappointment creeping into his voice. He knew Hank could hear it.

“What for?”

_For everything,_ he said silently. He scrubbed the words as soon as they appeared. He would never speak them out loud. Not without breaking something deep within himself.

“I have to go. I’m glad to have met you.”

Hank reached for his wrist, stopping him before he could move away completely. Without even a moment’s thought or input from himself, Connor’s synthetic skin pulled away, and Hank was left holding onto his bare chassis. Connor watched in shock, eyes transfixed on Hank’s hand gripping the smooth plastic. 

He shivered at the intimacy of it, Hank touching the truest part of him. Even without the sensors built into his synthetic skin relaying tactile feedback he could feel the warmth from Hank’s palm. Feel the request in the touch, sincere and longing. He tore his eyes away to meet Hank’s gaze. His eyes were so blue. 

Neither of them spoke for a long moment; when he did, Hank only uttered a single word. 

“Stay.”

Connor opened his mouth - to refuse, to plead, to explain- and closed it again. His throat constricted painfully. He couldn't cry, it wasn't one of his functions, but he felt an alien lump form in his throat as if he could.

Another choice flashed in front of his eyes. 

**[Stay]**

**[Leave]**

The second he made his choice, a red wall of code filled his vision.

**Author's Note:**

> :) 
> 
> Had to end it on a hopeful/ happy note - the alternative is just depressing, and that sort of outcome really isn't what anyone needs right now. 
> 
> Big, big BIG thanks to Neneko for prompting me to write this. Not gonna lie, I had an absolute blast; Robots with complicated feelings is absolutely my bag.


End file.
